


Badb

by darknesshadows (FeatheredShadow)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Jalec Gift Exchange 2017, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 13:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11968548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheredShadow/pseuds/darknesshadows
Summary: He knew what kind of picture he presented, entirely dressed in black, blood still dripping from his Seraph blade, belonging both to the werewolves he had encountered and to his own wound.





	Badb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calculatingthestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calculatingthestars/gifts).



> _In Irish Celtic mythology, Badb was a shape-shifting, warrior goddess who symbolized life and death, wisdom and inspiration._
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>  **B** , I was delighted to have the honor of writing you something for the gift exchange, and I hope you'll like it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)  
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_I've come undone_  
_But you make sense of who I am  
_ _Like puzzle pieces in your hand,_

[Red - Pieces](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x3U6BCUQqG8)

* * *

 

Blood was dripping from his forearm onto the handle of his blade but he didn’t care. The pain had barely registered at the back of his mind, and only once he had killed the werewolves that had attacked him, slaughtering them in the middle of the woods. He had left the still-warm bodies behind him as he had walked away. It hadn’t been his intention to face a group of werewolves that night, intent on crossing the woods before a blood moon could rise, but they had gotten in his way. He supposed he could have avoided them, had he been inclined to show mercy, but the feeling had long been beaten out of him. He had taken no pleasure in their deaths, his mind still focused on the place he had wanted to reach, but they had slowed him long enough that he had missed the correct timing.

His master wouldn’t be pleased.

Walking slowly between the trees, he managed to keep an eye on the stars above his head, trying to catch sight of the moon. He wasn’t sure _why_ it had been his role to go to the clearing, and why before he was supposed to be present before a blood moon could shine brightly in the sky, but it was all for nothing now.

A branch broke under his feet and he stilled for a moment, scanning his surroundings, before relaxing slowly. There was no one but the regular predators of the night, owls chasing squirrels and mice, hooting from time to time. He could hear the soft whisper of a river not far away from here, its song carrying in the silence of the night, and something about the atmosphere made him relax even more.

The clearing, when he reached it, was eerily silent, but someone was here already, figure hidden by a long, black coat, and turning their back on him. The stranger was studying a huge rock that was standing on one side of the clearing, fingers swiping over the runes that had been carved onto it. There was nothing unusual about the dark grey of the rock, glistening under the moonlight from years and years spent gathering rain on its surface, but something about the runes still gave him an uneasy feeling. They were old – older than those he had studied in his youth and now with his new master – but he couldn’t recognize them. In fact, coming closer, he wasn’t even sure anymore they really were runes. The form of the carvings was too straight for them not being man made, but perhaps those marks had another signification, something he couldn’t decipher.

“Jonathan Christopher Herondale,” the silhouette greeted him before finally turning to face him, taking off her hood in the same move.

The unnatural paleness of her skin stood out in the moonlight and he felt his hold on his blade tighten slightly. _A vampire._ He hadn’t expected that, but she clearly knew who he was, and he supposed she was the one he had to meet.

“Actually, it’s Morgenstern,” he corrected her in a calm tone, studying her.

She smiled a little, slightly showing off her fangs. She looked as if marble had come to life, her skin unnaturally glistening in the moonlight, her eyes two pale sapphires whose colour was only noticed as it was contrasted by the utter darkness of a few strands of hair that had escaped from her hairstyle. She was _old_ , he suddenly realized, the kind of vampires he had rarely – if ever – seen on the American continent.

It made sense he would have encountered here in Europe, then. Vampires were huge travelers but all tended to come back to their roots, at one point or another, and he had learned long ago to be extremely careful of those who had been turned before the Roman Empire had arisen. There was an unusual aura following them around, making them much harder to kill.

“As you wish,” she said in the same tone, tilting her head to the side to study him, a little smile still present at the corner of her lips.

He knew what kind of picture he presented, entirely dressed in black, blood still dripping from his Seraph blade, belonging both to the werewolves he had encountered and to his own wound. He hadn’t been injured on his sword arm so badly, and without being harmed elsewhere, for much longer than he could remember – but his memories were a bit fuzzy, these days.

He knew there was a part of his past that was hidden behind a veil, a decade stretched out between his childhood training with his father and now his adult training with his brother, but he didn’t mind. That part of his life had made him weak and soft, and it was now better left in the dust.

There was no place for feelings in a war.

“So, it’s true, what’s they’ve been saying,” she finally said after a moment of silence, an accent whose origin he couldn’t pinpoint making her voice sing a little. “You turned into quite the weapon.”

“I did what I had to, to fulfill my mission,” he answered slowly, eyes fixed on her.

She moved both with an unnatural stillness and the grace of a predator, something that made him a little nervous. Vampires of her age didn’t have the reputation of meddling in mortal affairs, contenting themselves with the company of their own, and fighting each other if it was required, but they rarely let themselves be seen by mortal beings, or even younger vampires. Some said it was a bad omen to encounter one and, although he had scoffed at the mere notion when he had learned of it, he wasn’t so sure what to think of it anymore.

“Yes, your mission”, she said with a little laugh, her pale eyes still fixed on him.

She bent down next to the rock and slowly rose up, a white rose between her gloved fingers. She made it turn on itself, looking from the flower to him and then again, a smile still playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Destroying all demon-blooded creatures from the surface of the earth,” she finally said in a slow tone, lying slightly against the rock.

Despite her move, her hooded coat was still enveloping her like a cloud of darkness and he shivered a little in the chill of the night, dread creeping up his back. He was now certain he couldn’t take her down in a fight – not with the way she was moving, poised assurance in her every gesture, and those pale eyes still following each and every one of his movements.

“This is why Nephilims have been created,” he pointed out, taking a slow few steps forward. “It is our sacred duty. The angel Raziel itself –”

She hummed quietly, cutting him short, and he closed his mouth, his eyes darting from her figure to the rose in her hands. It was of a pure white, with a red line atop each petal, a rich colour similar to blood, and standing out in the darkness of the night.

“You Nephilims are a strange ilk,” she said after a few moments of silence, her hold on the flower suddenly lighter. “Half-angelic creatures and yet stuck to the ground… Intent on destroying demon-blooded creatures and yet it is running through your veins…”

The insult cut him deeply.

“My blood is _pure_ ,” he hissed angrily, walking closer to her and suddenly stopping in his tracks as she stared at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Your blood is purest than of most Nephilims, that is true,” she said in the same slow tone, her smile gone, her face suddenly extremely similar to that of a statue. “But your soul is another matter. Demon blood is not just about _blood_ , young Morgenstern.”

He looked at her for a long moment before speaking up again.

“Why am I here, then?”

She smiled again at his question, but it didn’t reach her eyes – paler and colder than death.

“The Morgensterns… meddling with forces they do not control, once again,” she whispered before walking up to him, so close he could have felt her breath on his skin, had she been alive. “You have been offered to me, for an alliance,” she said slowly before raising her free hand to his face, stroking his cheek briefly before holding his chin between her fingers, forcing her to keep looking at her. “But,” and she tilted her head to the side again, studying him once more, “they came too late, I am afraid.”

She let go of his face before bringing the rose forward, tilting it in his direction until he took it with hesitant fingers, the blood on his skin staining its rod. Her smile grew a little at that and she stepped back, walking towards the carved rock once again, her fingers swiping over its marks.

“It has been a long time since I last bothered with mortal matters,” she said without looking at him, in the same slow, slightly hypnotizing tone of voice she had been using since the beginning. “Many sacrifices had been made to reach out to me, and many creatures have asked for my protection. Or my involvement,” and she gave a pointed look in his direction, the rose suddenly heavy in his fingers as his blade was slightly hitting against his leg, held with nothing but his holster. “All looking after power,” she added softly, a breeze rising up around them.

“Power is needed in a war,” he said in a cautious tone, understanding even less than before why he had been sent there, to meet her.

An old vampire whose name he didn’t even know.

“Wars come and go,” she said absently before fully turning back to him. “Lives gone in the blink of an eye…. It doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

He looked at her in silence, waiting for her to continue.

“Yet you are here,” he finally said when she gave no sign of wanting to talk anymore.

“You are a curious oddity, Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern,” she said, her little smile back at the corner of her lips. “Your blood has been offered to me, but I have no use to it. Nevertheless, I was curious to see you, I have to admit. Nephilims are such strange creatures, after all, and only the most determined – or most desperate – call upon my kind.”

“So, you won’t side with us,” he said in a low tone, finally understanding why he had been sent here.

He didn’t appreciate having sent to be used as a meal by a vampire, but it was just his luck his blood didn’t appeal to her. Her compulsion would have been impossible to resist after the first bite, and he doubted, in a corner of his mind, that his current master would have been able to keep her under his hold, no matter how many spells he might have used.

“I will not bother with your war,” she indicated, her pale eyes turning away from his face to look at the with rose in his hand. “Neither from your side or from the side of your enemies. But, as a high price has been paid for my presence here tonight…”

Her smile grew a little, fangs standing out sharply against the red of her lips.

“Then I’ll give you an information to share once you go back to your master. Your enemies have reached out to me, too. Only, they were far more reasonable – or far more realistic – in their demands. Staying away from your quarrel is nothing I wouldn’t have done otherwise.”

He frowned a little at the news. It would have never occurred to him to reach out to the oldest vampires, and he always had an imaginative mind for weapons. To realize that someone on the other side had thought of it… it meant nothing good for him.

“You are free to go now, angel-blooded Morgenstern,” she said with a little smirk, waving him away, and he stared at her for a long moment before slowly moving backwards, keeping his eyes on her.

She was oddly amused by his behavior and looked back at him until he stepped away from the clearing, branches and leaves suddenly obstructing his view. He walked for a few minutes before suddenly feeling his strength abandoning him and leaned heavily against the closest tree, shaking fiercely. It couldn’t be the blood loss, although it was probably better to activate his healing runes, in case he came across _something_ in the woods, but the adrenaline of the encounter had finally left him, taking all of his remaining strength with it.

He focused on his breathing, trying to get himself under control without drawing the attention of the predators living in the forest, his thoughts a real whirlwind in his mind. He couldn’t still quite believe he had been offered that way to the vampire, thrown away as nothing but a piece of meat, and – worst of all – she had seemed oddly amused by the idea.

He was still holding the rose, he realized after a time, and he hesitated for a moment before keeping it, twisting the rod so that he could fix it in his belt. He didn’t know where the impulsion had come from, but – as a great many other things that came from his gut – he knew better than try and resist it.

A hoot close to his head made him jump and he looked around him before finally spotting an owl sitting on a branch over his head, looking at him like he was an annoyance in the middle of the night. He stared at the animal for a few moments, wondering whether or not the hunt was good, before shaking his head. He had always had a soft spot for birds since he had started his new training, especially the hunting kind, but it was neither the time nor the place to study this particular owl. He had, after all, a long walk before going back to his camp, and he would rather be out of the woods before the sun started rising.

ooOoo

There was a dull pain on his left flank and he couldn’t quite keep his mind away from it. He knew it hadn’t been caused by the werewolves’ attack – they had only managed to slash him on the arm once – but it was still distracting enough that he had almost tripped against some tree’s roots twice now, despite his runes being activated. Oh, he knew where it was coming from, but the burnt, charred rune on his left flank should have been unable to cause him any pain, destroyed as it was.

In the early days, after he had woken up in the care of Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern – the real one – the rune had still been active, a warm, buzzing feeling on his side, making him a little hesitant about what was happening. Jonathan hadn’t liked it one bit, had considered it distracted him, something they couldn’t afford given the state of their war against demon-blooded creature, and had worked his hardest to destroy it. He didn’t know if it had been entirely successful, a phantom pain often catching his attention, although he was now careful to hide it – as well as hide how he missed it, more often than not. But Jonathan hadn’t raised the matter afterwards and he had kept silent, too, not particularly eager to endure one of the sophisticated punishments Jonathan designed whenever he was annoyed at him – or thought him not invested enough in their mission. Besides, there were more important things to worry about, such as fulfilling their mission, all while fighting off the Clave and its soldiers, who had sided with demon-blooded creatures.

He couldn’t understand why.

Jonathan had said that it was because they had been infiltrated by Downworlders-lovers, and that they had lost sight of their purpose, but he wasn’t quite sure about it. After all, he had seen some of them in action – some of the Clave’s finest Shadowhunters – and they had no qualm destroying any demon that came across their path. He couldn’t understand how they saw no difference between the creatures they killed on missions and those who were walking around freely, vampires, werewolves and Seelies alike.

Well, now that he had seen an old vampire from up close, he could understand a little better why some Nephilims were sensible to their arguments. Vampiric compulsion could be extremely strong, and maybe this was why because the Clave had become so soft on Downworlders.

Still, they couldn’t afford that weakness, not when demons were making a strong effort at destroying the world as they knew it. It was a shame old vampires had decided to stay away from their fight, but he was certain they could still manage without their help. It would take more time, probably, but they could still do.

They had been training for it their whole lives after all. He had almost caught up to Jonathan’s level now, despite the decade lost not training within the Morgenstern family, and he had the feeling their forces would soon be enough to finally get the world rid of the demonic invasion that had been infesting it for centuries now.

Of course, it was a shame Valentine had been killed by a Clave loyalist, but his sacrifice had strengthened their forces. They had to be careful not to waste all of his hard work away, but…

The noise of a branch creaking under someone’s foot caught his attention and he suddenly stilled before stepping away of the path he had followed, careful to hide himself within the shadows of the woods. He walked slowly, checking for the intruder, before finally ending up on another Shadowhunter – a quiet presence between the trees, carefully scanning his surroundings.

It didn’t take him long to recognize the man. He had seen him on the battlefield more than once, wielding either a bow or a Seraph blade with dexterity, and he knew he wouldn’t be rid of him in a matter of seconds, as he usually tended to do with Clave’s soldiers. This one required a little more work – and would be a good to work out his frustration born of his encounter with the vampire.

He stayed silent until they came across one another, suddenly finding themselves face to face while the trees around them were suddenly more disseminated. He had noticed the phenomena more than once during his walk through the woods, trees suddenly becoming rarer – and allowing for more light to pass through the leaves, before the woods regained their density once more.

“Well if this isn’t the Clave’s favorite lapdog,” he said in a low voice with a smirk, noticing how the Shadowhunter had stilled before paling a little at seeing him.

He liked having that kind of effect on his opponents.

“ _Jace_ ,” the man said in a whisper, looking at him with a desperate intensity, his eyes searching for something on his face.

 _Jace_. It sounded familiar, somehow, and he suspected it came from the time spent away from the Morgensterns. No doubt Clave’s loyalists were all about pet names… But it didn’t matter anymore and he shrugged a little before carelessly drawing his blade out.

“It’s Jonathan,” he pointed out with nonchalance, waiting to see what the other would do. “Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern. And who are you, again?”

A frown followed by the blink of eyes was the only answer he got, before the Shadowhunter’s face turned into a cold, impassible mask. It was a noteworthy effort, but that didn’t stop him from noticing the pain and hurt underneath, as well as the longing present in those hazel eyes.

The sight made him pause.

The warmth directed at him was not something he was used to.

“I’m Alec. Alec Lightwood.”

He paused for a moment and silence hovered between them.

“Doesn’t it get confusing, with the other one?” Lightwood – _Alec_ – asked in a curious voice, hand on the handle of his blade, not quite drawing it out.

He shrugged a little.

“Everybody managed just fine until now,” he answered in a drawl, getting together from the other Shadowhunter in quick, smooth steps, a bit surprised when no blade was raised to stop his progression.

And it couldn’t be a trap – he couldn’t hear it, couldn’t _feel_ it, and by the Angel, he had trained hard enough to have become good at it now.

“And what is a Clave’s supporter doing so far away from his home base, now?” he asked in the same nonchalant voice, marching up to the other until he was forced to step back, his back soon enough hitting a tree.

The shock was enough to rattle the owl stationed there, flying away with an annoyed sound.

They were standing very close to each other now and he could feel the heat radiating from the other Nephilim. It tempted him – he always felt so cold, ever since Jonathan had turned the rune on his left side into a burnt, charred mark, so unrecognizable that he couldn’t even guess what rune it had been, before.

He didn’t remember.

Only knew he missed its warmth.

Troubled, he raised his blade so that the tip came to scratch the Shadowhunter’s chin from underneath, pressing it just so that the other was forced to tilt his head away to avoid drawing blood. He wasn’t used to have to raise his eyes to look straight at someone and it unsettled him a little.

And yet he didn’t feel dominated at all by the other’s height, knowing that the power was in his hands – Seraph blade.

“Are you lost?” he asked in a low voice when Lightwood didn’t answer, instead looking at him with longing eyes that were taking in his features as if they were water in the desert.

It flattered him.

He knew his body was well-sculpted, had seen more than one woman – or man – looking at him with hungry eyes, greedily eyeing his body. He knew his eyes were a striking feature too, blue and brown mixing together, but no one had ever looked at him in such an open way – full of desire and reverence.

“Well?” he asked once more, slightly moving his blade away and grapping Lightwood by his jacket, making sure their noses were almost touching when he spoke.

The kiss didn’t surprise him one bit, and neither did the hands grabbing him by the collar of his own jacket, passion lightning up between them. He could feel desire flaring through his veins and let it flow, moaning into Lightwood’s mouth once the kiss deepened. His blade fell to the ground with a thump and pushed back, keeping one hand onto the jacket and using the other to run through soft, dark hair, tugging it a little to keep the other Shadowhunter pliant to his whims.

He felt warm – warmer than he had been in a long time – and lost himself in the kiss, forgetting about the war and Jonathan and the emptiness inside him that never seemed to fade away, focusing instead on the hands that were roaming on his body. It didn’t matter that he and Lightwood were on two different sides in the war, that Jonathan would punish him as soon as he learned he hadn’t killed the man when he had had the opportunity, but none of that mattered – not when the cold emptiness inside was suddenly filled with warmth.

They had to break their embrace at some point to get some air, panting, hair disheveled, cheeks, and they looked at each other for a long time, their breathing the only sound around them. Slowly realization seemed to dawn on them, reminding them where they were and what they were risking, losing themselves like that in the middle of an ancient, sacred forest.

The pain on his left flank was still there, grounding him.

“Well, well, well,” he said in a low, raspy voice, stepping backward and giving the Shadowhunter a once-over. “Who could have expected _that_ of a Clave’s loyalist… didn’t your mommy raised you better, Lightwood?”

“It doesn’t concern her,” Lightwood answered after a beat, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, and something he didn’t dare name in his eyes.

His mind was playing tricks on him, that was all.

The wind started blowing around them and he shivered a little, already missing the warmth coming from the other’s body. He didn’t quite feel like taunting him anymore, unsettled by what he could see in those piercing hazel eyes – by the way he had reacted, hungry for what had been freely given to him. He quickly grabbed back his blade that was still lying on the ground and stepped away slowly, keeping his eyes on the Shadowhunter. The other hadn’t made a move to attack him, instead choosing to stare at him with a painful intensity, still breathing heavily.

He hesitated a little before walking away, suddenly running high on tension, nervousness flowing through his veins.

No one followed him.

ooOoo

The ache didn’t disappear over the next days. Jonathan had taken one look at him, once he had come back to the camp and, with a mix of disappointment and annoyance, had told him – _ordered_ him – to find a way to relieve himself and get his head back into the mission.

He couldn’t get Alec Lightwood out of his mind. There was something about the Shadowhunter that was drawing him in – _calling_ to him – and he didn’t know what to do with it, trying to quiet the feeling through countless, meaningless adventures that left him physically satisfied, but more and more frustrated. He tried his hardest to hide it from Jonathan, choosing instead to focus on their next batch of attacks, enjoying taunting and playing with the Clave’s soldiers that were sent after them before getting rid of them.

He hadn’t seen Lightwood after their encounter in the forest, but had come across his sister, once – and it was obvious they were related, he had noticed it before. It was hard to miss, with how similar they were, and in the way they moved on the battlefield. She was a worthy opponent, too, with that whip of her, and it had been an enjoyable fight to him – something that required a little effort, contrary to many of his duels with Clave’s soldiers. Of course, she hadn’t held her own against him for long, a but a fiery redhead had come to help, and he had enjoyed playing with them until a warlock had appeared, giving them a certain advantage.

Jonathan had complained that he had drawn the fight on for too long, missing his opportunity to get rid of the Clave’s girl – the other one, she wasn’t to die, although he was unsure why, but those were Jonathan’s specific orders, and he was the one in charge – but he had shrugged, saying there would be other occasions. Jonathan hadn’t liked it and he had felt the punishment deep in his bones for days afterwards, leaving him even emptier than usual – and adrift.

He started considering going back to the forest.

After all, they were set to stay in Europe for some time now, Jonathan insisting they needed to be there for the next phase of his plan, and he hadn’t objected, enjoying the change in scenery. They had been moving around a lot – and the landscapes on this continent were so diversified, it left him a little gob smacked – but always seemed to come back close to the sacred forest. He suspected Jonathan was still trying his chance with the old vampires – apparently, there was an old European clan, the existence of which the Clave was aware of, hence why so many soldiers were here, along with a few diplomats – but, as far as he could tell, he hadn’t been very lucky so far.

And neither had been the Clave, according to the few prisoners Jonathan had seemed fit to interrogate, curious to get some fresh information about their opponent.

Torture, when he wasn’t its target, had always left him bored and he usually took off whenever Jonathan was in one of his moods, which happened rather irregularly. Besides, he was on the move a lot too, trying to find demon-blooded creatures to destroy, and Shadowhunters to play with. A lot of them were intent on getting him but rare were those who could manage to land a hit – and even rarer those who could hurt him for real.

But he wanted to see more of Alec Lightwood. The pull was getting stronger by the day and it made him want to scratch the veil that was covering his memories, trying to get a sense of who he was – of the way he had grown. Pieces of him were missing, he was sure of it now – a realization that had been startled by his night in the sacred forest.

He still had the rose the old vampire had given him, as fresh as if she had just been plucked, hidden in a pocket of his usual leather jacket. No one had noticed its presence and he intended on keeping it that way.

It still smelled fresh, too, like the morning dew, something that brought memories of cold wood floors and of a warm, masculine body against his. Sometimes, he felt like he could almost hear a laugh, something gentle poking at him, on the edge of comfort, but every time he tried to focus to hear it clearly, it seemed to disappear.

It was worst when he was on the edge of waking up, between sleep and awareness, when he thought he was seeing a figure at the corner of his eye – when he could have sworn there was a warm body pressed against his, a promise of comfort and protection.

Something that was a little too similar to home.

The presence – the figure, the laugh, the _smell_ , even – always escaped him, avoiding the light brush of his fingers, but still present at the verge of his conscience, when he was focused on something else. It made him _eager_ to get his hands on this mysterious figure, and aching – for what, he didn’t know.

All he knew was that he was missing _something_ – something important, something bright that was important, that he had to find. He couldn’t understand why he was feeling like that now – he was certain he had never set foot in Europe before, so it wasn’t as if his memory could have been triggered by the _ground_ – but he was intent on finding out the reason behind it.

And Alec Lightwood seemed to be as good a start as another. Or at least, he could provide a much-needed distraction – his instinct told me that a night with the Shadowhunter would prove to be memorable, if their encounter in the sacred forest was anything to go by.

Trying to escape the physical ache of his bones – courtesy of Jonathan’s latest attempt at an original punishment – and the cold feeling of emptiness inside him, he decided to go for a night alone in the closest city. He was still on the edges of the sacred forest, feeling as it was calling to him – a ridiculous notion for sure – but he had decided to go empty his mind with a drink or two, and affiliated pleasures, in the closest city.

It had proved unsatisfying at first, deriving no pleasure from the nameless bodies that offered themselves to him and, after a few encounters, he decided to walk back to the camp, dissatisfaction and frustration running deep through him. The ache hadn’t disappeared – and neither had the emptiness – and he was more disappointed than he could understand why until he spotted a familiar frame walking ahead of him. In the distance – and the moonlight – it was difficult to be certain of its identity, but his gut had never lied to him and he realized he had found who he had been looking for.

A group of Shadowhunters must have been in the vicinity, too, but he set the thought aside, preferring instead to focus on the lone Nephilim that had decided to cut through fields to reach the forest, rather than follow the road. The night was quiet and peaceful around them, and he felt a thrill of anticipation going down his back as he walked a little faster, trying to keep the man in his line of sight until he entered the forest. From there, it was no different than his regular hunting sessions in the woods, playing with his victims’ nerves until he decided to cut the chase and sprung unto Alec Lightwood.

The Shadowhunter had been on his guards and almost put a fight before recognizing him. There was still longing in his eyes, accompanied by a healthy dose of hunger, and he didn’t resist much before being thrown against a tree, in a mocking recreation of their first encounter. There was no need for blades to be drawn this time and he let himself being pulled into a passionate kiss with no complaints, hands even more adventurous this time.

He couldn’t have said how long they spent making out against that tree, grinding against one another, the sound of their panting loud in the quiet night, before Lightwood broke up the embrace, a determined light in his eyes.

“There’s a cabin not far away from here,” the Shadowhunter suggested in a low, raspy voice, catching his attention.

A cabin sounded nice – and promising, if what he could feel was anything to go by – so he stood back a little and nodded, cheeks flushed. He felt warm all over – outside _and_ inside, and knew it wasn’t only due to their activities. There was something about Alec Lightwood that lit up a fire inside him, filling the cold void that had accompanied him since he had first woken up in Jonathan’s clutches, not remembering exactly who he was and how he had ended up there.

The walk to the cabin was short and quiet, the two of them regularly bumping into one another, the same anticipation running through their veins. The cabin itself was small, albeit clean, and it was clear someone had been living there recently. In fact, might still be living there, as he started to suspect. Alec Lightwood was moving around way too comfortably for someone who had just found out about the existence of the building, and it suddenly became obvious to him that it was an advanced post to keep an eye on the coming and going inside the forest. They fell onto the bed quickly enough, the furniture creaking under their combined weight, and they stilled for a moment, worried it might break under them. A few moves proved them nothing of the sort would happen, despite the noise, and they resumed to their activities, clothes soon ending up on the floor.

It was warm there and the could still discern the tapestry of the Shadowhunter’s body under the moonlight, additional light be damned. The runes were standing out to his eyes and under his fingers, as well as a few scars, some recent and other more ancient. There wasn’t much time for exploration before they came to their release but, intent on making most of the night, they soon resumed to discovering one another.

There was something oddly reverent in the way Alec Lightwood was touching him and he wondered – not for the first time – how much of his mysterious past was linked to the Shadowhunter. They must have been _close_ – he couldn’t understand why else the man would have been looking at him, touching him in such a way otherwise.

But he didn’t quite feel like asking questions, too busy falling apart under the skilled hands and mouth taking care of him. His hands were reaching to whatever they could find – sheets, skin, hair – and he moaned loudly when he felt himself go, the warmth suddenly surrounding him having nothing to do with the physical act.

There was something extremely satisfied in the way Alec Lightwood looked at him and he suddenly exchanged their positions, eager to show the extent of his skills – to have the Shadowhunter falling apart under him, letting go of his reserve and his inhibitions. He took his sweet time to do so, bringing a few curses on himself that he swallowed with a smile before making his way up a finely sculpted body.

It was a quest more than satisfying, his reward tasting good underneath him, until he reached a particular rune on the left side of the Shadowhunter, making him jerk under his tongue. He stilled for a moment, looking at the other man with a raised eyebrow, wondering what had happened. The rune had seemed rather normal under him, although hot and the skin underneath it maybe a little swollen, but nothing that should have caused such a reaction.

“Everything alright?” he asked in a low voice.

Ale’s face was half-hidden in the shadows but he could still see his hazel eyes shining, and feel a tentative hand brushing through his hair, the gesture tender than it had been until then – no pulling, no guiding, just a soft gesture between lovers.

Lovers.

The notion sounded strange but oddly right, as if it was exactly where he was supposed to be – enjoying the warmth of Alec’s Lightwood, being the focus of his attention, having those beautiful hazel eyes looking at him with longing that was so intense it almost made him look away.

Something inside him unclenched ad revealed in the feeling of being _home_.

“Everything’s fine,” Alec finally said in a low voice, made rougher by desire and – something he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ decipher.

From then it was easy to go back to his exploration of the Shadowhunter’s body, making him moan and fall apart, giving a special attention to the rune on his left flank. It wasn’t quite the same localization as the marred mark on his body, but he pushed the coincidence aside, wanting to _feel_ more intensely than ever before.

And his inner turmoil had indeed abated when they finally fell next to each other, panting, spent in every way, an odd sense of contentment rushing though him. _This_ , was where he belonged – at the side of the other Shadowhunter, basking in his warmth, a sense of protection and protectiveness surrounding him.

Alec Lightwood had been oddly careful with his scars, spending a lot of time revering them, making him twist in impatience, a little confused and not wanting to show how much it touched him. He had felt vulnerable and oddly open, trying to hide himself behind snarky words before they had been kissed away, allowing him to lose himself in the sensations. It had been more intense than he had expected – than he had secretly _hoped for_ – and he had curled next to the Shadowhunter when sleep had overwhelmed them.

Their time of rest had been short and they had awoken when the sun had started rising. Alec Lightwood at looked at him for a long time in the morning light, one hand brushing away a strand of hair behind his air before stroking his cheek gently and then letting go of him. It had been soft and tender, in a way he wasn’t used to – was _aching_ for – and he had quickly put his clothes back on before turning to face the Shadowhunter, an undecipherable look on his face.

There had been no goodbye when he had left, only a look of longing and one last kiss, hidden in the safety of the cabin, before he had been disappeared in the forest, knowing he had to go back to the camp.

ooOoo

Alec Lightwood was under his _skin_. He couldn’t get the other man out of his mind, the memories of their night spent together jumping back at the front of his mind every time he stopped focusing on his tasks at hand, leaving him aroused and slightly confused.

It wasn’t just about the sex, great as it had been. It was about the warmth that had filled him when he had been close to the Shadowhunter, about the sense of belonging that had overwhelmed him in the middle of the night, causing him to curl closer to the warm body.

It was about the veil over his memories that needed to be lifted.

His mind wasn’t completely onto their mission anymore and Jonathan noticed it, poking around until he could find out why. He didn’t realize it, at first, thinking his questions to be only about the conduct of the war and nothing else, but Jonathan was nothing but throughout. His little escapade hadn’t gone unnoticed, fellow Circle members having picked on his absence, used to be keeping an eye on him, and someone finally spoke up.

Jonathan didn’t like it one bit – didn’t like that he had gone back to the sacred forest, or that he had spent so many hours there without telling him he had done so, or why. For once, he had felt oddly protective of his little adventure – the fact that it had happened with a Clave’s soldier being set aside. There was something about Alec Lightwood that belonged to him and him only, and he didn’t want to share it with Jonathan.

For the first time, he was keeping a huge secret from Jonathan. Oh, he had kept a few things under silence before – from his hesitations to their methods, in the early days, to the vague feeling of pain he could still feel on the burnt mark on his left flank, but nothing as big as what was currently happening.

In the end, he realized it had been foolish to try and keep it from Jonathan. His master was an intelligent man and he had found out about his encounter with the Shadowhunter. Jonathan hadn’t let it on, for once keeping his temper under control, careful plotting his revenge, which made it all the sweeter when he came back to the camp one day, to find a bound, beaten, bloody Alec Lightwood in Jonathan’s favorite cell.

A cell he knew all too well.

His mission had kept him away for a long time, and when he had come back, it was to the realization that the Shadowhunter had been a prisoner for a couple of weeks, the state of his body being a clear indicator of it.

And Jonathan was studying him, gauging his reaction – and he knew, although he didn’t know where that had come from, that the wrong answer, the wrong reaction would get them both killed, in a long, painful fashion.

Lying came easily to him, pretending the Shadowhunter had been nothing but an amusement – another way to get at the Clave, seeing how easily it was to turn their soldiers away from their duties, and how that wouldn’t happen to _them_. It had been nothing but a game to him, playing with his target’s mind, but he had grown tired of it, and if Jonathan wanted to have his turn, well, it wasn’t like he would have a problem with it.

_Lies, all of it._

The rose the old vampire had given him had been heavy on his coat pocket, although it weighed nothing more than any other rose, but he had accepted the fact, a long time ago, that it wasn’t a natural flower. Something had been done to it, and he didn’t know if it was warlock’ magic or a spell put on it by the vampire, but it didn’t matter.

What mattered – the _only_ thing that mattered – was to get Alec Lightwood out of Jonathan’s clutches as soon as possible. He knew, from experience and from having witnessed it over multiple occasions, that no one could survive the Morgenstern’s cells for longer than a few months, and he didn’t know for how long the Shadowhunter had been there.

The urge to save – to protect – was more intense than anything he had ever felt before, his loyalty to Jonathan fading in comparison, and it wasn’t long before the opportunity arose for him to act. They were, after all, still in the vicinity of the sacred forest, and sometimes, he suspected the old vampire was still more involved in their war than her words had suggested.

Jonathan had been gone on a short mission, taking only a few Circle members with him, without telling him where he had been going – and he hadn’t minded. He was used to his master’s secrecy, had long ago accepted that he would never be privy to all of his secrets, and it was fine by him. It gave him, after all, an opportunity to get Alec Lightwood away from their camp, mindful of his injuries and of the Circle members that were supposed to be standing guard. For someone who had his training – and who knew their camp like the back of his hand – it wasn’t a complicated matter to get the two of them away before taking the road to the sacred forest.

The weather was with them, as it was a night without moon, but with dark, heavy clouds covering the stars, making it almost impossible to walk without light. Still, he managed just fine, carrying the Shadowhunter as he had been leaning more and more against him over their walk, obviously unable to walk unaccompanied and unassisted any longer. He could understand it all too well – hell, he had had some issues getting out of Jonathan’s cell, too, when his training had first started. Only growing his resistance to pain had helped, but he knew the Clave was coddling its soldiers too much.

Still, he refrained from commenting on it, choosing instead to support the Shadowhunter until they were walking through the sacred forest, owls flying and hooting around them. There was still the soft song of a river not far away – one he had never been able to find, despite the time spent in the woods – and they walked for a moment until Alec Lightwood almost fell over him, unable to keep walking.

He gently helped him lie on the ground, mindful of his injuries, checking how the strong, warm body had turned thin and shaking under his hands. Still, the Shadowhunter was unafraid, looking at him with those piercing, longing eyes that had been accompanying his nights for quite some time now.

“If you rest, will you be able to get back to your forces tomorrow?” he asked in a low voice, brushing away a strand of black hair from the Shadowhunter’s forehead, checking his temperature at the same time.

His fever – if fever there was – was low and the use of a few runes seemed to help, as they were glowing briefly in the darkness before starting to work. He knew they wouldn’t be as useful as if the Shadowhunter was in good health, fed and having slept enough, but it would have to do for the time being.

Alec Lightwood looked at him in silence for a moment before nodding slightly, grabbing him by the wrist over his jacket. He let himself behind caught without fuss, scanning their surroundings to find a better place to install the Shadowhunter before leaving.

“Come back,” Alec whispered in a begging tone and he looked at him with surprise, frowning slightly.

Come _back_?

“I’m not going to the Clave,” he pointed out in a low tone, noticing a rock not far away from them that could prove itself useful, should it be of the right form – and yes, part of it had been carved, turning into a little cavern where someone could sleep without much problem.

It was easy to bring the Shadowhunter there, to position his shaking body over the leaves that had been lying on the ground, making for a more slightly comfortable cushion – or at least, being dense enough to make sure the cold wouldn’t seep from the ground to the Shadowhunter’s body.

“I know,” Alec Lightwood said in a low, slightly miserable voice, hand still holding onto his jacket, trying to get keep a point of contact between them. “I know. But… come back, please.”

He looked at him for a long time, trying to decipher the strange look in his eyes – but, other than feverish longing, there was nothing he could read – before brushing away a few strands of hair. Driven by an impulse, he gently kissed the chaffed, dry lips, cradling the Shadowhunter’s face between his hands. The kiss was gentler than everything they had exchanged until then, a soft, tender touch, but it rattled him more than he had expected.

He let go begrudgingly, taking in the face of Alec Lightwood – thinner, marked by his time in Jonathan’s cell, bruises fading in various colours, and dried blood over his pale skin – before stroking his cheek gently, feeling unwilling to leave but knowing he had to go back to his camp.

“You’ll see me again,” he whispered, trying to show his sincerity through the conviction in his voice. “A few days in the hands of the Silent Brothers and we’ll come across each other on the battlefield. You’ll just have to wait a little, alright?”

Alec Lightwood took in a shaky breath, eyes shining brightly in the dark, and his hold on his wrist tightened, still strong after weeks spent in Jonathan’s cell.

“Promise me,” he asked in a raspy voice, staring at him intensely. “Promise me you’ll be there.”

“When have I ever not kept a promise?” he asked in a low tone before brushing his hair away with his free hand. “I’ll see you on the battlefield, Alec Lightwood. And you better be at the top of your game.”

It was easy to smile, the words rolling out effortlessly from his tongue, and he felt something squeeze his heart a little – without knowing what it was – when the Shadowhunter stared at him before nodding, having obviously used the last of his strength on their conversation.

“Don’t get yourself killed before that,” he said, kissing – if it was a kiss, just the press of their lips together – the Shadowhunter one more time before disappearing in the night.

He made sure no one could come to rock without being intently searching for it and then covered his tracks, a strange warmth filling him. He felt better now that he knew the Shadowhunter wasn’t in Jonathan’s clutches anymore, and didn’t mind too much the punishment he was sure to get, for their prisoner to have escaped. He had been, after all, under his watch, and he knew Jonathan already had his suspicions, but he could handle it.

He had withstood far worse, after all.

(Jonathan had been _more_ than furious about it, and he had spent _time_ lying on the ground of that cell before finally managing to get up and regain his room, body aching in more ways than one.)

Still, he had taken the punishment with clenched teeth, and the knowledge that had done something good – something _right_ in getting Alec Lightwood out of his cell. His gut had screamed so at him, and the cold emptiness inside him had been filled a little.

_Come back._

Those words had been haunting him for days now, longing and desperation merged together, and yet he still hesitated to search for the memories hidden by the dark veil. If he was completely honest with himself, he was a little scared of finding out what had been taken away from him. _Him_ , so fearless on the battlefield, ready to take as many opponents at once as possible, was scared to find out about his past.

It was probably linked to Alec Lightwood – his reaction was a given, and no one could be as good an actor to fake the longing in his eyes – but, as he suspected, Jonathan probably played a part in it too. After all, he had been the one to take care of him, present at his side since he had woken up, mind empty and a huge scar on his stomach, assuring him he was back to where he belonged now. In his weakened, disoriented state, it would have been easy to twist his mind and made him believe that…

That…

No, it wasn’t a territory where he wanted his thoughts to go. Better to focus on the most urgent, pressing matter at hands, which was the big fight they were going to have with the Clave’s soldiers on the morning after. Jonathan had been rather excited about it, saying it was a great opportunity for them to finally destroy the Clave and what it stood for, and he had only nodded, still hurting from his punishment.

He hadn’t slept well and his thoughts had been all over the place, going back to the old vampire – those pale, piercing blue eyes – and what she had said to him, in the forest. Pure angelic blood running through his veins, and yet his soul was supposed to be another matter completely? He didn’t know what to make of it.  It didn’t even really feel his own, although he couldn’t understand where the feeling was coming from. In any case, being here – in the camp, at Jonathan’s side – seemed more foreign by the day, and he was aching for the warm presence of Alec Lightwood.

With any luck, if the Shadowhunter had survived his night through the forest, he would.

ooOoo

He did. Alec Lightwood looked much better – although still too thin and pale, paler than seemed right for him – but he was standing tall and proud, bow out and scanning the battlefield.

He knew the archer was looking for him, and raised an eyebrow when he caught his attention before his face turned back to its usual calm mask. Jonathan wasn’t paying him any attention, for once, too busy exchanging harsh words with the Inquisitor, and he waited until the signal for the fight to begin was given.

It started – as one could expect – by Downworlders’ nerves snapping and werewolves charging them. He didn’t mind it too much – had killed his fair share of werewolves before – and they were far less impressive in broad daylight than in the sacred forest. None of the Circle members seemed to be of his opinion, though, and he sighed a little before throwing himself into the fight.

It soon turned into a mess, Nephilims hitting the ground hard, werewolves highly sensible to the pure silver than had been added to their blades – mundane legends had some truth to them, after all – and he ended up losing sight of Jonathan, too busy battling his opponents.

They were supposed to stay close to each other – hell, _he_ was supposed to have Jonathan’s back and protect him, stay in his line of sight all the time in battle – but for once he set aside the order, too eager to come close to Alec Lightwood once again. The archer was in a defensive position – something that wasn’t too surprising, if you asked him, given the extent of his injuries the last time he had seen him – but he was still easy to spot among the crowd.

Or maybe he was just attuned to the Shadowhunter, anticipation and excitation thrumming through him as he made his way towards the line of defense of the Clave. Oh, he wasn’t inclined to kill him – not after having helped him escape Jonathan’s cell – and he wanted his answers.

After all, it seemed like the truth about his past was lying in the hands of Alec Lightwood.

He managed well enough to cut close through the Clave’s lines until a roar of anger stopped him abruptly in his tracks. Everyone turned to look at the source of the noise, and he raised an eyebrow in surprise at seeing the fiery redheaded girl that had gotten Jonathan’s attention – Clarissa Fairchild, and the name came unprompted to his mind – making her way towards him, a sword on fire in her hand.

Literally.

It was the Soul Sword – how he knew _that_ was over his grasp – and heavenly fire was coming out of it. Circle members who were touched by it fell onto the ground with loud screams of pain and he stayed still, unable to take his eyes away from the girl who was approaching quickly.

Jonathan had been hurt by the sword, he realized in a corner of his mind, but the thought didn’t bother him much. They were too far away from each other for him to do anything about it, and if the girl wanted a duel, well, he was only too happy to oblige. Something told him she would be a worthy opponent, and he was eager for a fight, despite everything.

Alec Lightwood was looking at him with an undecipherable look on his face and their eyes met for a brief second before he turned his attention onto the girl, already positioning himself in a dueling position.

“It’s time for this to end,” she said in a clear voice when she reached him, seemingly unbothered by her quick walk to his position and he smiled a little at that, amused by her tone.

“It is,” he said in return, appreciating the way she was moving – someone had taught how to _dance_ in a fight, and it showed.

Their blades met, sparkles jumping around them, and he was surprised at the intensity of her blows. For someone of her stature, she had more strength that he would assumed, runes notwithstanding, and it took him some efforts to handle her attacks.

The proximity of the Soul Sword made him weak, as he soon realized, and he had to focus on fending off her attacks, not quit realizing they were soon surrounded by other Clave’s soldiers, while Jonathan was still foaming at the mouth elsewhere on the battlefield. He was slowly losing his strength and the girl hit him on the arm, sending a jolt of pain so intense through his body that he let go of his blade.

She attacked him and he tripped, falling down and hitting the ground hard, the force of the impact taking the breath away from him. More shouts could be heard and he suddenly saw Alec Lightwood in his line of sight, piercing, longing hazel eyes reaching out to him. The Shadowhunter was worried, that was plain as day, and he kept looking at him, barely sparing a glance to the little girl when she came close, Soul Sword burning up in her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a shaky voice and he barely had the time to react to her words before she stabbed him with the Sword, right in the position of his old stomach wound.

The one Jonathan had been tending after, when he had first woken up.

Pain burned through and he screamed, feeling like his whole body was on fire. Something was burning _inside_ of him, and the heavenly fire was destroying it, its power so intense that he could feel himself being cleansed. The dark veil that had been weighing over his past exploded and he thought his head was going to break in two from the pain.

He didn’t even realize someone had grabbed him his hand and was calling him his name – there was only _pain_ , and it overwhelmed him.

The white rose was still as fresh as ever in the inner pocket of his jacket, carefully hidden at the level of his left flank.

ooOoo

He woke up lying on a comfortable bed, his stomach having been thoroughly tended to, bandages covering half of his upper body tightly. His head felt fuzzy and he couldn’t see much in the room. Moonlight was piercing through the thin curtains that were covering the only window, and it took some time for his vision to adjust. The room was small, but there was still a little table in it, along with a few chairs and a huge piece of furniture that probably was used to stock clothes, cutlery and other associated artifacts. It was obvious someone had been – was still? – living there and, with a little effort, he could spot the form of two huge suitcases on the other side of the room.

And there was someone dozing off on the chair next to his bed. The realization startled him a little and he hissed in pain at his sudden move, surprised not to have realized it before.

The sound was enough to wake up the stranger and he soon found himself face to face with two huge hazel eyes, a mix of hope and worry shining bright.

“Jace? You’re awake…”

 _Jace_.

That was…

That was his name.

Pain suddenly flared up in his mind, as well as in his left flank, and he hissed a little again, barely twitching when a cold hand placed itself on his neck, the other grabbing him by the cheek. Someone sat close to him on the bed, the wood whining a little at the sudden change of weight.

“Jace, look at me,” a worried voice said urgently and he obeyed after a few seconds, mind twirling, trying to get a handle on his thoughts.

Alec was looking at him, worry painted all over his face, something akin to disappointment in his eyes. Longing was still there, but it seemed dimmed – tainted by the lack of recognition.

Not quite trusting his voice, he grabbed Alec by the neck and kissed him fiercely, his other free hand going for soft, dark hair. Alec stilled briefly, surprised, before kissing back passionately, his hands moving to cup his face, letting himself being guided through the kiss. They only separated to regain their breath, panting harshly, and he could feel Alec shaking slightly under his hands, biting his lip and looking at him with an intense mix of fear and hope.

“ _Parabatai_ ,” he finally whispered in a low voice, overwhelmed by the intense feeling of love he was suddenly experimenting.

The hand that had been playing with Alec’s hair swiftly moved down, gently stroking his cheek, reverently exploring the contours of his face.

“How…? What happened?”

“ _Jace_ ,” Alec answered in an exhale, voice shaking, eyes suddenly extremely bright. “You’re… are you back? Do you remember…?”

“Mind’s still a little fuzzy,” Jace answered truthfully with a little smile, not quite believing his was still holding Alec’s face in his hands. “What happened?”

“It’s… a long story,” Alec admitted with a little laugh, letting himself be touched while his own hands had fallen down, resting gently at the junction between Jace’s legs and his hips. “When Valentine killed you at Lake Lynn, it activated a bond between you and Jonathan. You disappeared a couple of days afterwards and…” his voice faltered for a moment and Jace kissed him again, a gentle touch that was as much to comfort his parabatai than to reassure himself he was really there. “Well, Jonathan found you and he managed to use that bond to… we’re not sure, it’s like he erased your memories from your time at the Institute, and convinced you that Valentine had been right all along? And he tried to destroy our parabatai bond, your rune was –”

Dread suddenly creeping up his spine, Jace quickly moved one hand to the rune in question, feeling a bit reassured as he could feel it pulse warmly through his bandages. It was still there, and he could feel the bond – feel it _again_ , love and affection pulsing through it while worry was slowly creeping away. There was still a sense of desperation underneath it all, but it was weak – yet present, and he suspected it would be so for some time.

“He really insisted on destroying it,” Jace said slowly, smiling a little shyly when Alec put his hand over his own, fingers intertwining. “I remember that part really clearly,” he added with a dark, bitter chuckle.

Alec shook his head, a weight seemingly lifting from his shoulders.

“It took us some time to understand what had happened, and Jonathan grew an army really quickly during that time, but we finally found out he had managed to bind you to him, somehow, so we tried to get you out of there.”

“And you succeeded brilliantly,” Jace pointed out with a little smile, feeling it grow as Alec bent down to kiss him, one hand moving to cup his cheek.

They kissed slowly, languorously for a moment before separating, looking at each other with adoration. Jace felt like he was melting into a puddle under the heated stare of his parabatai, and it was for him to keep his hands to himself, torn between wanting _more_ and finding out what had happened on the battlefield.

“It took a lot of research,” Alec admitted quietly, unable to look away. “I don’t think we could have managed if it hadn’t been for that old vampire we came across… She didn’t want to join our forces at all, but the Clave was reticent too, so she accepted to listen to us. Turns out she was ready to give us some information, as long as we could pay for it, so…”

“Payment?” Jace enquired with a little frown, wondering if this was the same vampire he had come across.

Alec shrugged.

“Blood. Lots of it. Not very original, but everyone who wanted you back gave their share, and it turned out to need a huge receptacle.”

Jace’s heart fluttered a little at the idea, touched – and rather surprised – that so many people would have wanted him back so badly they would have given their blood to an old vampire.

“And – it was really weird – she asked Clary to draw a rune that she thought would symbolize you the best, and told me to bleed on it. We didn’t get to see what came out of it, but she was satisfied, and she told us how to break the bond between you and Jonathan. Once we had the information, it wasn’t as complicated to find a way to use heavenly fire on the Soul Sword.”

Thoughtful, Jace nodded before turning to try and reach his jacket. He didn’t manage to see it at first but, catching his stare, Alec quickly brought it to him. He felt a little cold, in the moments his parabatai wasn’t close to him anymore, but soon forgot about it when he came back, the contact between their bodies warming him more than he could have expected.

Alec looked fascinated once he took the rose out from the inner pocket of his leather jacket, studying it intensely. The red lining up the top of the petals was still as intense as blood, standing out against the whiteness of the flower. It seemed to be its own source of light in the room, and suddenly started to glow as their hands connected over the rod.

“Well that’s…” Alec started to say, eyes wide open and going from the rose to him.

“Unbelievable,” Jace said with a little nod. “You know, I met a vampire the night I saw you across the forest, and I think it was the same you had business with. She gave me the rose, and it stayed as fresh as on the first day until now.”

They looked at each other in silence for a moment before Alec gently went in for a kiss, Jace answering a little bit more forcefully. They quickly put the rose away on the nightstand before focusing on kissing each other passionately, Jace lying back on his pillows. He tugged his parabatai a little so that Ale would position himself over his body, covering him with his warmth and giving him a deep sense of protection.

“Your wound,” Alec whispered between two heated kisses, worry still latent underneath and Jace laughed a little before kissing the top of his nose.

“You’ll be careful,” he assured him quietly, running one hand through the soft strands of black hair. “I want to _feel you_ , parabatai.”

The Clave and their interdictions be damned, he hadn’t been gone through all this to deny himself what he really wanted. Besides, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t done it before, and the only consequence to it had been to bring him back closer to his true, real self.

Alec smiled fondly at him, eyes crinkling.

“I love you,” he whispered softly before kissing him again, a bit more tenderly this time, and Jace felt suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of emotions.

It took him a few moments to be able to answer, shaken to the core and yet feeling like the world had rightly shifted onto its axe.

“I love you,” he answered in the same tone, cupping Alec’s face between his hands. “You make sense of who I am, parabatai.”

There wasn’t much place for words afterwards and they resumed their kissing, hands roaming freely and yet more delicately than before. There were new scars to be traced, inches of skin to be rediscovered, and they lost themselves in each other, in the moment.

The moonlight was still shining bright against the darkness of the sky and a satisfied laugh made itself heard across the sacred forest. Blood for blood, the balance between life and death had been restored, and warriors would be fighting where they belonged, now.

The rose stayed fresh lying atop of the nightstand.

 


End file.
